


the world's best turian friend

by rievu



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Multi, and blowing up stuff together, it's just mostly shepard and nihlus being best buds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rievu/pseuds/rievu
Summary: AU where reapers aren't a thing and nihlus kryik survives to be possibly the world's best turian friend and the tired mentor of a certain commander shepard





	1. eden prime

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i'm writing this mostly bc i wish that nihlus survived and became good friends with shepard  
> 2\. i like writing about things that go "boom"  
> 3\. i don't really know where i'm going with this (as usual)

Nihlus Kryik has to resist the urge to laugh out loud or flare his mandibles with mirth too much while Captain Anderson debriefs Commander Shepard of the Normandy about the assignment on Eden Prime. Thankfully, none of the human crew can tell that his subvocals are veritably thrumming with his utter amusement.

Commander Shepard looks like someone has just taken her precious rifle and snapped it to pieces in front of her very eyes.

He has to admit, it’s not the first thing that he expected. Normally, when people are told that they’re approved for Spectre training, they’re happy and excited. The commander is none of those things. Humans aren’t as easy to read without any subvocals to express their emotions and intentions clearly or any mandibles to move. However, after too many missions with other species like asari, Nihlus has gotten fairly decent at reading expressions that flicker across eyes and softer faces than his own.  
The captain finishes his rather long lecture about how becoming the first human Spectre will be a leap forwards for galactic peace and the advancement of humanity and respect among other species and whatever else he can pull from his ass to make Shepard’s face go slightly less stiff than it was.

“So, that’s what you’re really here for,” Shepard says archly.

Nihlus inclines his head and replies, “I will be overseeing your mission and skills out on Eden Prime.” He can’t help but snidely add in, “Do try not to disappoint.” The commander breaks her rigid stance and leans into an almost threatening pose with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Is this some sort of test?” she says flatly.

He nods and says, “In a way, yes.”

Shepard shifts her weight to her other foot and continues to stare steadily into his eyes without even blinking. It somewhat reminds him of his old mentor, Saren, and the way he would stare at you and make you feel as though he was digging out every single secret out from your mind. “You don’t need to evaluate my abilities,” she says dryly. “I think that my record shows more than enough proof for you, Spectre.”

Nihlus churrs with amusement, unable to hold it back. “It’s not about your capabilities, Commander Shepard. I’m sure that we can all agree that you’re more than qualified for the job.” He tilts his head to the side and flares his mandibles slightly as he continues, “It’s more about whether or not I think you’re ready to become a Spectre under my guidance.”

“Under your guidance?” Shepard asks, her eyes suddenly honing in on him much more sharply.

Nihlus tries not to sigh and wonders if Captain Anderson chose to mention that detail in that long talk of his. “Yes,” he chooses to say. “All Spectres receive special training under a mentor before they are ready to become full-fledged Spectres in their own right.”

Shepard loosens her arms and arches an eyebrow as she inquires, almost innocently, “And if you don’t think I’m ready?” 

Nihlus crosses his own arms and stares back at her, mimicking her previous motions. He didn’t survive his training under Saren for nothing. “Then you won’t be a Spectre, Commander Shepard.”

For a split second, Nihlus begins to feel a twinge of regret. Damn, he feels too much like his own grumpy mentor long ago, but he supposes that it’s necessary to keep up some pretense of authority here. However, a small smile begins to creep its way along the edges of Shepard’s mouth, and the commander looks almost excited now. Good. Perhaps this will be an easy assignment after all. A quick retrieval with a willing potential trainee should be quick. Nihlus wonders if he’ll get back on the ship in time to file a few more reports and then watch a few vids before sleeping for another short cycle.

The commander salutes Captain Anderson before she leaves and turns on her heel, striding out as quickly as she came in. Her hair flutters behind her, and her footsteps are strong, softly ringing against the metal floor. Nihlus shrugs and turns to glance at the holo-screens. He supposes he’ll go ahead first and scout out the terrain. That way, he can make sure that Shepard doesn’t run into too much trouble and have a clear sight of her.

Anderson lets out a heavy sigh, and he looks over at Nihlus before he says, “Be careful out there. Commander Shepard is… A confident and courageous soldier on the battlefield.”

Nihlus hums, “Why should that be something to be careful of?”

The captain presses his strange five-fingered hand to his temple before he sighs, “Our commander’s courage is enough for her to try pulling off tricks and strategies that are… Unconventional.”

Nihlus lifts his brow-plates and thrums his subvocals in a display of intrigue and interest. “Like what?” he asks.

Anderson shuts his eyes tightly and his expression turns into a mixture of horror and weariness. “Commander Shepard was from Mindoir. She said that her father was an environmental biologist who once used a certain technique when watering the fields of his test crops. She then proceeded to drive a tank in the same formation on a battlefield against some rogue soldiers and thugs on the edges of Alliance territory. She ran several cannons and barricades over, gunned down the rest of the barricades, and left the scene with everything smoking and burning in the same design and pattern of a Mindoir farm field.” Nihlus gapes at him slightly, mandibles going slack. He has no idea what that really means or what Captain Anderson is really warning him about.

But still, with that warning in mind, Nihlus is careful as he goes ahead, fingers gripping his familiar rifle as he ducks under cover. He radios Shepard and warns her of a few incoming geth. In recent years, they have been searching for further pieces of data for whatever reason they may have. Apparently, their search also applies to Prothean beacons. However, when he warns Shepard, her voice crackles in, “Already taken care of.”

Confusion flitters over his subvocals, not knowing what she means by that. But then, her voice slyly comes in over the transmission again. “With all due respect, I’d suggest moving to the right just a tad bit, Spectre.”

Nihlus doesn’t have enough time to move to the right “just a tad bit” before a grenade blast knocks him off his feet. The sound of Shepard’s laughter is clear in his ear, and he cranes his head over his cover to look at the blast. There is a blackened crater in the ground along with several scorched pieces of what used to be geth on the ground. “That was five geth,” Shepard says airily. “So, that means currently, I’m at five and you’re at zero.” She pauses for a bit before saying, “What a damn shame, Spectre Kryik.”

Nihlus can’t help but well and truly laugh. His subvocals expand as he replies back, “Is that so, Commander Shepard? I believe that will change soon enough.”

A shot rings out in the air, and a geth drone falls to the ground.

“Six for Shepard, zero for Kryik.”

Nihlus swings himself over his cover and doesn’t bother to hide as he unleashes a series of well-aimed shots into several unfortunate geth who happened to be too near. A sprint to the next nearest cover brings him into range of a few more, and the next time Shepard cackles out her kill count, he’s there to say smugly, “Twelve for Kryik, ten for Shepard.” 

He can hear the disbelief in Shepard’s voice as she says, “Twelve?! How many geth do you have near you?”

Nihlus proudly says, “None. I killed them all. Better than what you can say, Commander.” He can hear her grit her teeth and he churrs once more.

Nihlus Kryik is thoroughly delighted with himself. More than he should be.

And then, a grenade detonates above his head.

The sound pops his ears, and instincts tell him to dive back behind cover. Thankfully, he’s not hit, and his shields are barely damaged. He snaps, “Shepard?!”

Her voice flickers back lightly, “Oh _dear_ , my sincerest apologies, Spectre Kryik! I thought that lump in the distance was a geth!”

Oh, it is _so_ on.

Nihlus tears through the geth quickly and efficiently. Saren once told him the sweet spot for aiming at a geth, and he utilizes that knowledge well. Shepard, on the other hand, is destroying the geth as well, albeit in a much different way.

He fully understands what Captain Anderson meant back at the Normandy.

Despite her status as an infiltrator, Commander Shepard has resorted to throwing herself at the geth and flinging grenades at them while they’re distracted. Nihlus can still hear the occasional booms of detonating grenades. He doesn’t understand how she can keep this up for so long without running out of them. Also, he swears that each and every explosion is designed to just barely miss him.  
When they finally reach the beacon and ensure that it’s safely loaded onto the Normandy, he turns to see the biggest shit-eating grin make its way across Shepard’s face. “So, how’d I do?” she smiles. Her hands are folded behind her back, and her stance is even (but not quite). It’s some sort of mockery of respect; a military stance to stay in for your superiors but barely edged with a tinge of insubordination.

Nihlus pretends to ponder her question for a while before saying, “Your performance was decidedly more… Explosive than I expected.”

She snorts, “Damn right it was.” Shepard seems veritably gleeful as she crows, “What a shame you almost got hit with some of them too!”

She’s completely shameless about it all. At least her lieutenant had the sense to look embarrassed for her. (Alenko, if he remembered the dossier about the Normandy that he briefly skimmed through correctly.) The same sort of shit-eating grin makes its way across Nihlus’s face as well as he says, “Exactly. Your explosive tactics will serve the Spectres well, Shepard. Welcome to the ranks. I’ll send you a draft of what your training under my tutelage will be like.”

He delights in watching Shepard’s face fall and her eyes harden.

“Shit,” she swears, low and dark under her breath. Shepard looks at him with those same piercing eyes before she says, “Well, this will be just a bucket of sunshine, won’t it?”

He agrees, “I don’t know that human saying, but yes, it will certainly be interesting.” With a small swivel of his ear-disks, he can make out her lieutenant mutter something like “It’s not a human saying, it’s just Shepard” under his breath.

To his surprise, she smiles back at him. “Well, if a turian Spectre can deal with my shit during a battle, then it probably won’t be that bad.”

“No, it won’t be,” Nihlus smirks.

He can’t wait to throw her into batarian mercenary ships in the Terminus systems.


	2. (molotov) cocktails on omega

“Hi, Nihlus,” Shepard says smugly as she strides out to the airlock, dressed in her armor and armed with her favorite rifle. Nihlus can’t see any grenades on her, but he’s known the commander long enough to know that she _always_ has grenades on her person in some shape or form. He suspects that it’s some sort of explosive way to make up for her surprisingly short stature, even for a human. She’s especially small when standing next to him which is a fact that she stalwartly refuses to acknowledge.

It’s one of their many small contentions that have come up during their training together. 

Nihlus has long since given up the pretense of being a proper, hard-assed mentor like Saren was to him, and even then, Saren lightened up towards the end to the point where he was willing to go out for drinks with him. (He likes to think it’s his own beneficial influence on Saren.) Now, he and Shepard have settled into a kind of easy camaraderie that can only develop after trusting the other person to watch your back in the Terminus systems.

Shepard snaps one of her favorite submachine guns into place where she can easily reach it, and she looks up at him. “Come on, big guy,” she teases. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Nihlus shakes his head and replies back, “You and your human sayings, Shepard. Alright, let’s go.”

They’ve landed on Omega, one of the filthiest and crime-ridden places that Nihlus has ever seen. He almost wishes for a simple and easy assignment like clearing out a few geth outposts or searching for information on a mercenary ship. But no, he just _has_ to be here on Omega as per the Council’s wishes and find some incriminating evidence against a certain someone that has their eyes set on endangering salarian space.  They stroll out the ship and down the streets towards the thrumming hub of Afterlife, the palace of the Queen of Omega. Nihlus wishes that he didn’t have to deal with Aria T’loak, but it’s necessary for the mission. He remembers what Saren said about Aria when he had visited Omega for the first time. _Do not try to outwit or outsmart Aria,_ he had said grimly. _You will only learn to regret it. Do as the locals say._

And the locals always say, _Don’t fuck with Aria._

His only concern is for Shepard; it’s her first time here on Omega. She’s eyeing the other inhabitants of Omega with suspicion, but thankfully, she’s holding it back. A wrong look aimed at the wrong person can kill here. She mutters under her breath, “This would be a great place for a first date, huh, Nihlus? Be sure to take your turian sweetheart here one day.”

He snidely says back, “Of course, why didn’t I think of that before? I’m sure that she would love to sip a good dextro cocktail while someone gets murdered on the dancefloor.”

Shepard abruptly stops and gives him a winning smile. “My sarcasm is wearing off on you!” she crows with utter delight.

Nihlus gives her a good shove and retorts, “I’ve always had a stunning sense of wit. Your so-called sarcasm doesn’t even deserve to be called sarcasm. It’s just a group of your strange human sayings!”

Shepard grumbles something, but she lets it go. Her eyes scan her surroundings; quick and clandestine, just like he taught her. He wonders how she ever passed recon and stealth training with her kind of fighting style. However, she _did_ pick the skill up with an uncanny speed. “Mmm,” she says blandly. “Looks like we’ve got something coming up that’s better than a murder on the dancefloor.” She twitches her fingers slightly into a small semblance of a signal that they use on the battlefield. 

Nihlus goes on high alert, but he doesn’t change his course. He just lengthens his stride to the doors of Afterlife a tad bit as he says with a slight lilt, “I hope you mean the cocktail because that would be perfect right now.”

He tilts his head to the left slightly as another man slips out of the shadows and steps onto the street. The man looks like he hasn’t shaved in several days, and he wears a large, dark jacket that could hide a variety of potential items underneath. He was most likely after them. Judging from the heaviness of the human's footfalls and his broad stature, Nihlus suspects that he carries and/or specializes in heavy weapons and is possibly a front-liner. Some called Nihlus suspicious and some said that he took too much after Saren and his constant penchant for vigilance, but Nihlus trusts his own instincts well enough. After all, his instincts were what made his jobs so successful and made him a famous Spectre, even among the ranks.

More men step onto the street, their steps clear enough for turian ears to hear. He’s not sure if Shepard can hear them though. He doesn’t know if they’ll make it inside Afterlife at this point. He can see the doors, but at this rate, he supposes that the men will attack before they reach it. Before he can make a decision, Shepard turns and heads down a different road, away from Afterlife and towards a darker street where the lights seem to be somewhat dimmer. She even shoves her hands in her pockets and whistles a jaunty little tune. 

Nihlus swears under his breath and follows her. Was he ever this impulsive as a trainee? Yes, he probably was, but that wasn’t the important thing at the moment.

“So,” he begins. “What about that cocktail?” Maybe he can divert her back to Afterlife before shit happens.

Shepard stops and turns around on her heel with an impish grin. “What about a molotov cocktail?” she says almost innocently.

Then, she pulls something from her pocket and tosses it behind her back. Almost immediately, the world around him bursts into flames.

Human screams quickly join the sounds of crackling fire, and he can scent the harsh iron tang of human blood along with smoke and ash. Shepard darts over to duck behind a crate and slams a thermal clip into place with that same grin. Nihlus curses as he dives behind another crate before his kinetic barriers tear apart under the hail of gunfire. He can hear Shepard go through thermal clips quickly as she fires quick and true. Nihlus still thinks that her style is too loud and explosive for an infiltrator, but he can't deny that she shoots as accurately as one. Faster than normal snipers too. Nihlus strongly suspects a combination of too much practice as well as illegal weapon mods.The sound of bodies thudding to the floor follow soon after every gun shot. He fires once, twice, and then a heavy weapon merc decides to blast a couple shots at him. He rolls out of the way and waits until the miniature explosion subsides. Then, with a quick jump, he vaults over his cover and sprints behind where Shepard is waiting for her shields to regenerate.

“Fancy meeting a bunch of mercs on Omega,” she starts off conversationally. “Especially one with a heavy weapon. Think I can get my hands on it?” Her kinetics shields shimmer back to life and she grins cheekily, “Never mind, I’ll just get it for myself.”

Nihlus’s subvocals thrum, but he doesn’t say anything more and instead, opts to shoot a couple more mercs. Shepard is incorrigible and unapologetic, and nothing he can do or say will change that. He supposes that’s one of the reasons why she’s so successful with clear-out missions. Shepard is more of a storm or a sun waiting to burst into nova. Maybe she's as brilliant and burning like a supernova already. He shudders slightly after thinking about that one batarian ship that Shepard had blasted into oblivion. He’s not so sure if she can handle stealth (even though her records show her as an infiltrator and a supposed recon specialist), but thankfully, the Council has other Spectres who specialize in more subtle missions. He wonders if she's purposely being explosive just to throw him off. It wouldn't surprise him, especially if it was from Shepard. The woman could probably do anything that you asked her to except for dancing.

It doesn’t take long before the two of them clear out all the mercs. Nihlus suspects that it’s the very same organization that they’re after, but before he can say anything, Shepard pipes up, “Well, four for me and three for you, and I’m not going to count the half-burned ones because that was mostly me and my Molotov.”

Nihlus snorts, “Oh, really now?” His subharmonics deepen as he says, “I don’t think that counts. Also, you owe me a cocktail for this.”

Shepard slaps him on the back and laughs, “Any time, Nihlus, I’m here any time.”

Suddenly, a girl steps into the alleyway and stops dead in her tracks, her eyes going wide when she sees the burned mess that Shepard made with her Molotov cocktail. The bloody bodies of the mercenaries also add to her growing horror on her face. She screams, sharp and shrill, before she turns around to run away.

This is too much of a mess, even for Omega.

“Well shit,” Nihlus sighs. “Someone’s going to have to face Aria about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, half the inspiration for the shepard here is from my shoddy playthrough as a Bad Infiltrator lmao


	3. the c-sec pretty boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bc wow i do love me some shakarian

Nihlus likes the Citadel well enough. It’s shiny and pretty on the Presidium, and everybody on the Presidium looks just as shiny and pretty and insipid.

 _Oh wait,_ he amends. _Just as shiny and pretty. Just that. No insults. Anything more will probably get you punched in the mandibles by some tetchy gardener._ He’s had more than his fair share of run-ins with grumpy gardeners, and he does _not_ want any more of them. Some of them could wreak havoc in the Terminus systems with only their trowel and watering can. He shudders at the mere thought of it.

He knows that Shepard is probably making a face beside him. Human faces always were so malleable, and Shepard delighted in making strange grimaces and expressions to startle a laugh out of him. Nihlus can’t help but wonder all humans do that, but it’s probably just Shepard’s special brand of crazy.

She nudges him sharply, and despite his armor, it still manages to hurt. “I can tell you’re thinking something shitty about me,” she says lightly.

“Now really?” Nihlus drawls. “Is this some sort of special human talent that you forgot to tell me?”

He glances over at Shepard who just shrugs and says, “Your mandibles are doing the flappy thing again. They always do the flappy thing when you’re thinking something shitty about me.”

Nihlus actually stops in his tracks and stares at Shepard. “Flappy thing?” he questions. Shepard nods and raises her hands to the sides of her face. She then proceeds to flap them back and forth to mimic his mandibles, and Nihlus feels somewhat affronted. After some thought, he realizes that he does tend to flare his mandibles when he’s “thinking something shitty” about Shepard. “Alright,” he concedes. “Maybe I was.”

Shepard starts walking again, completely unaffected, and she waves her hand at him. “Naw, it’s alright,” she says. “I mean, I think shitty things about you too sometimes. Consider it even.” Nihlus gapes, mandibles slack, and pastes on a shocked expression.

Shepard doesn’t even turn around to look at him.

He feels offended.

Nihlus easily catches up to Shepard with his long strides and wonders how humans managed to survive evolution with such short legs compared to turians. Then again, the asari managed to survive. But also, the asari have terrifying biotics and live for a thousand years. The humans only live around a turian lifespan while aging horribly with their soft, saggy, alien skin. “Stop thinking shitty things, Nihlus,” Shepard says. “You can only do it every once in a while. Not all the time.” Nihlus shakes himself out of his thoughts and is ready to retort something back when he sees Shepard slam into a C-Sec officer.

 _Oh spirits what the hell_ , he thinks as he reaches out to haul Shepard up. But the C-Sec officer beats him to it and helps Shepard up as he apologizes. “Sorry about that,” he says, harmonics flanging with apology. “I didn’t see you there.”

Shepard shakes her head and replies, “It’s alright, it’s my fault— “ She trails off and stares at the C-Sec officer for a moment too long.

He’s a turian with the signature grey plating of Palaven and blue colony marks. He’s got a Palaven accent too. Nihlus has to admit that he would probably be considered one of the nicer-looking turians; it’s the slim waist, long fringe, and pale blue eyes that really does it. A grade-A C-Sec pretty boy.

Nihlus himself has a slim waist and a long fringe and bright green eyes too. Yes, Nihlus is petty enough to think about his own appearance after he sees the C-Sec officer, but he knows that his strange and nearly-foreign white colony marks usually end up deterring other turians from hopping into bed with him. After all, no one wants to sleep with the off-world hillbilly with the dirt-red plates. Bringing up his Spectre status usually muddles one-night stands too. He sighs but takes care to not let his subharmonics bleed through. It'll be a cold day in hell when he ever lets his own vanity and pettiness show through to _a C-Sec pretty boy._

“Anyhow, thanks…” Shepard says before quizzically looking up at the officer. “Your name is?”

The officer churrs with amusement and introduces himself, “Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec. And you?”

Shepard flushes pale pink, and it’s an expression that Nihlus has never seen on Shepard’s face. “Shepard, Alliance Navy.”

Shepard's response is usual enough; she hates saying that she's a Spectre. Frankly, he's gotten used to it after so many complaints during training and mentoring, and considering her performance on Eden Prime, it's a wonder that she's gotten this far as a Spectre. She's far more comfortable in her Alliance blues than she ever was in the Spectre black. But _dammit_ , it’s one of the _Vakarians_. There was a Vakarian in C-Sec who loved putting the Spectres through paperwork hell. Nihlus is willing to bet his left mandible that this is his son. He’s got the same colony markings and an almost identical look about him. Nihlus mentally berates himself for not noticing sooner. He’s losing his touch with evidence and appearances. He used to be _so_ good at it too. He immediately blames Shepard for it and flares his mandibles with a touch of amusement. Yep, it’s Shepard in all of her distracting and loud and obnoxious glory.

Nihlus clears his throat and says, “Well then, Shepard, we’d best be off to the Embassies. Lots of paperwork, your favorite!” He even claps his hand together and adds that same mocking lilt to his voice that's a signature brand of Shepard sarcasm.

Shepard darkly glares at him before she turns back to Vakarian. “Thank you, Officer Vakarian. I really appreciate it,” she says in the sweetest tone that Nihlus has ever heard. He almost chokes when he hears it.

Vakarian churrs slightly and replies, “No problem, that’s what I’m here for….” He pauses and tilts his head, observing her and waiting for something.

Shepard fingers her dog tags (almost nervously?) and says, “Just Shepard is fine. I’m on shore leave.”

Vakarian laughs, “Alright, Just Shepard.”

Nihlus begins to take a step towards the Embassies, but he stops once more as Shepard asks, “Do you regularly catch people who run into you?”

Vakarian smiles, “No, but I’ll do it if you keep on doing it.”

Shepard shakes her head and says, “No, it’d be too rough on you. I’m in civvies, but imagine me just ramming into you with armor on. Besides, that’s probably not what a C-Sec officer wants to waste his time on.”

Vakarian doesn't even miss a beat as he hums, “I wouldn’t exactly call it _wasting time.”_

Flirting. Shepard actually trying to flirt. It's like watching an elcor mating dance. The amount of secondhand embarrassment from watching something like _that_  is exactly the same. Nihlus gives up and just leaves. Shepard has the _nerve_ to wave goodbye to him as he heads towards the embassies. To add to his secondhand embarrassment, she calls out, “Don’t get lost with that pissy look still on your face! You’ll scare away all the tourists!”

When Shepard finally arrives at the embassies, he makes sure to have a nice, neat stack of papers all ready for her. She makes a face when she sees it, but Nihlus raises a talon and shakes it at her. “Oh no, Shepard,” he says with a smirk. “No complaining, especially after your flirt session with the _oh so nice_ officer.”

She blushes pink once more. Nice. Score one for Nihlus, zero for Shepard. She might be able to win the "how many batarians can I kill with a grenade" game, but Nihlus  _prides_ himself on these kinds of games. “So,” he says almost evilly. “How was your _lovely_ little conversation with our _dear_ Officer Vakarian?” She bristles, “He was a nice guy, okay? His name is Garrus.” Nihlus chuckles, “Sure, sure, that’s what they all say before they drag them off to bed.”

“It’s not like that,” she snaps. Shepard slumps her shoulders and says more quietly, “It was nice to not be recognized as the first human Spectre or something like that. He treated me like I was another person, not some idol or tool.”

Nihlus pauses, unwilling to poke at a soft spot. He knows that Shepard likes to huff and puff about being a Spectre, but he's seen her cradling her Alliance tags in her hand. He's seen her stare at her Spectre uniform before turning away and sliding on her familiar Alliance fatigues. So instead, he resorts to humor. Because he is a Good Friend. “Hey, aren’t you forgetting your turian best friend here?” he jokes. “I’m starting to feel a little hurt. Mind you, more so after your little escapade on the Presidium.”

Shepard sighs with relief. He thinks that she was expecting him to poke fun at her Spectre status or something of the usual sort. She shrugs and says, “Alright, alright, don’t be salty, Nihlus. He was nice though. I think he knew. He’s C-Sec after all. But still, it was nice.”

Nihlus leans back in his chair and regards her for a moment. She’s smiling to herself, an expression that he usually associates with her grenades or her sniper rifle. “So,” he asks. “What did you two talk about if it wasn’t about your spectacular Spectre status.”

Shepard glances at him and says dreamily, “Sniper rifles.”

There it is. He really shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Did you invite him out for drinks or something?” he asks expectantly.

Shepard looks at him with an aghast expression as she says, “God no, I can’t just spring something on him like that.” Nihlus doesn’t even deign to answer; he simply opens his mouth and let his subharmonics out into a flanging, creaking groan of disappointment and despair.

The great Commander Shepard who handled grenades and sniper rifles like child’s play was absolutely useless when it came to social interactions like these.

Shit.

This would be _so_ much easier if she was just a turian. They could just blow off steam by sparring in one of the Hierarchy rings and then blow off some additional steam in a more physical manner in a room or something. But no, the prudish humans and their Alliance and their silly little fraternization rules that got broken more often than not just _had_ to be so complicated about it. Nihlus blinked and tried to imagine Shepard as a turian. He shudders for what feels like the millionth time that day. Commander Shepard would _not_ make a good turian, not with her occasional insubordination and blatant, sharp tongue. After all, that had been what had almost gotten him kicked out of the turian military.

He closes his mouth and draws his mandibles tightly against his jaw as he thinks. Shepard looks at him worriedly. “Did I cross some sort of turian cultural thing again?” she questions. 

It _was_ funny when Shepard crossed turian social customs. He distinctly remembered one time Shepard flung her arm around Saren’s neck as a show of comradeship and touched the sensitive nerve cluster on the back of his neck beneath his fringe. Saren didn’t kick her out of the airlock, but he did ram her into a wall and hold her up by her neck while hissing out dual-toned threats.

That was funny.

This was not.

This was just sad.

With his decision made, Nihlus stands up and starts walking toward the door. He pauses and turns back to Shepard. He points at the stack of paperwork and says firmly, “I want that stack of papers filled out and organized completely by the time I get back.” Shepard gapes at him and starts to ask why, but he lifts one of his talons up to shush her. “I’m going out to salvage your social life,” he says for dramatic emphasis before making his way out the door. It slides shut with a satisfying click as he strides down the hallway and back out on the Presidium.

He is such a good friend.

* * *

“Alright,” Nihlus drawls. “Humans aren’t really direct about the entire ‘blowing off steam’ thing like we turians do.” The C-Sec officer nods like it’s the most obvious thing, and frankly, it is. Alliance fraternization rules were stupid and idiotic and foolish and belonged in the trash. Nihlus flares his mandibles in a shit-eating grin and continues, “So, that’s why _I’m_ here and not my lovely human friend to tell you that she would love to get in your pants and blow off some steam.” His voice is absolutely dripping with snarky subharmonics, and he loves it.

Damn, he’s having too much fun with this.

Vakarian’s neck flushes bright blue, and his jaws go slack.

Spirits, this just gets better and better.

“I, uh, I don’t know what to say,” Vakarian sputters, his voice flanging with surprise. Was he being… bashful? Damn, Nihlus almost wishes that the elder Vakarian was bashful like this. It would have been so much easier to fudge through all of those numerous reports that he had to file with C-Sec. This Vakarian, however, coughs and says, “Well, I don’t know, she could have meant simple sparring. You know? Those Alliance ships have strict regs, right?”

Nihlus raises his brow plates and asks, “You do realize that she’s a Spectre? The first human Spectre? Fuck the rules. At least, that's how she seems to view it.”

Vakarian shakes his head and replies, “I can’t believe you’re saying that to a C-Sec officer. And yes, I do know who she is.”

Nihlus blinks. Didn't Shepard say that Vakarian treated her normally? Well, as normally as turians treated humans? He tilts his head and muses, “Then why did you treat her like any other normal person?”

Vakarian pauses and looks at him with baffled eyes, “Why wouldn’t I? She seemed nice.”

Nihlus internally sighs. He’s stuck with two blundering idiots.

Frankly, Shepard needs to get laid (especially considering the amount of stresses that she goes through), but this officer seems to be one of those honorable romantic types. How frustrating. He silently bemoans the lack of flexibility in Alliance regulations regarding fraternization. And that was ironic since humans seemed to be so bendy and flexible with their lack of protective plating. He honestly does not understand how a person can go so long on a ship with so much stress without blowing some off it off whether it be fucking or fighting. Nihlus shakes his head and returns to his current predicament.

He sighs, “Alright, Officer, let’s put it this way. I want my friend to be happy and relatively stress-free. Let’s say I drag her out to a bar tonight. Would you be there at said bar?”

Vakarian quirks a mandible and says, “I’m not even into humans.”

Nihlus snorts, “ _Please_. I saw the way you looked at her. I’ve seen that kind of interested look too many times during my time in the military as well as my time as a Spectre. Besides, humans aren't _bad._ Sure, it might be a niche fetish thing for most turians, but they're not _that_ bad.”

Vakarian chokes slightly before regaining his composure. He sighs and evenly replies, “I just thought that she was different than the other humans I’ve met. Also, I was curious about the first human Spectre. Also, she has… Interesting thoughts about sniper rifle mods and explosives. Fascinating, really.”

Nihlus rolls his eyes (a habit from Shepard) and scoffs, “I know my subharmonics. Don’t try to fool me.” He leans in to say, “Listen, I’m going to drag her out to Flux tonight around 2200. I’ll see you there.” Without waiting for a response, Nihlus turns on his heel and walks away.

He is too good of a friend, if he does say so himself.


	4. a bar set-up (but not the right kind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, haven't updated this one in a while. here's a new chapter! hope y'all like it :") be sure to leave a comment + kudos if you did!

There are many sounds that Nihlus Kryik hates.

One of them is the high-pitched shrieking noise that Shepard can make.

He’s currently in one of the Council-run hotel rooms with his foot wedged between the crack in the bathroom door, and Shepard is screaming behind the other side, almost naked with only a towel loosely wrapped around herself. He’s also holding a human-fitted dress and heels in his hands and wishing for earplugs as Shepard continued to shriek like a banshee.

“A dress? Heels? Who do you think I am, Nihlus Kryik?! Also, I don’t even have clothes on!”

Nihlus sighs heavily. He wants a cocktail and he wants it now, but it’s not even 2200 yet. He tries to collect his composure and says, “Since when have your lack of clothes bothered me? We’re going out to a bar at 2200, and I, like the best turian friend, have gotten you a dress and shoes. And besides, you’ve seen me without clothes so many times, it shouldn’t even matter.”

Shepard glares at him with her classic Pissed-Off Commander look and spits, “First off, you have _plates_. That counts as clothes. Second, common showers are nothing compared to you wedging yourself between my bathroom door with the tools of the devil in your hand!”

Nihlus pauses for a moment and contemplates that statement. For turians, clothing wasn’t that much of a deal and was mostly adopted to adjust with the societal standards of other aliens. Also, Nihlus thinks that he looks stunning in some black formal attire, but that's beside the point. He carefully asks, “If I was wedged between your bathroom door without the dress and heels, what would you do?”

Shepard blinks owlishly and says in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’d tell you to stop making a fool of yourself and go to the bathroom or wash your hands or take a shower, whichever you needed.”

Nihlus flatly says, “Then what’s the big deal?”

Shepard points at the dress with utter contempt and says darkly, “You have the devil’s things in your hands. Get them out of the hotel room before I use a flamethrower on it.”

Nihlus gapes, “You have a flamethrower?”

Shepard’s face suffuses with pride as she says, “M-451 Firestorm. It's one of my favorite heavy weapons since it uses power cells much more efficiently. Also, fire.”

Nihlus’s foot is starting to ache from being wedged in the bathroom door. He’s also fairly sure that there are several bruises on his poor foot after Shepard tried to shut the door by viciously slamming on the manual close button multiple times.

He sighs, “Alright, I’ll tell you the truth.”

He prays that Shepard never finds out that he’s straight-up lying.

He flexes his mandibles as he says carefully, “So, yeah, we’re going out to Flux at 2200, but it’s mainly to observe this one target that I was assigned to. It’s a solo mission, but the guy’s single and straight and I figured that it would be a hell of a lot easier to keep track of him when he’s distracted.”

Shepard raises her eyebrow and pins him with a sharp look. Nihlus is distinctly reminded of a predator’s gaze when he looks at that hardened look of her, and she says, “Are you sure it’s not part of ‘salvaging’ my social life?”

He raises his brow plates in turn and says with shock, “Spirits, no! Vakarian said he had reports to file, so unfortunately, I couldn’t get you laid tonight. The ‘get a good fuck’ night out at the bar was scheduled for three days later when he had an off-shift and when _you_ were done with your own reports. And by the way, you still have several more reports to file for your other missions that you conveniently forgot about.”

Shepard groans, “Why does the Council have to be so picky? They send me to kill a man, I kill said man, and then they want to know exactly how I killed him?”

Nihlus tosses her the dress and heels while saying nonchalantly, “The Council _is_ the one paying you, you know. Get ready in 10 minutes, Recon Specialist.”

Shepard grumbles, but she catches the dress. She lets the heels clatter to the floor though. She says with a certain kind of airy and arrogant irritation that’s completely Shepard, “I’m _fantastic_ at infiltration and reconnaissance. Just you wait, Nihlus Kryik. I want the dossier after I’m done.”

Nihlus slides his foot out of the crack and sighs with relief. He glances up and chirps, “Too bad, you’re not getting it. And besides, I’ve seen you dance. It’s terrifyingly terrible, and you could probably murder someone with your dancing. No way in hell am I giving you the dossier until afterwards. It’ll be easier for you to loosen up and act natural at the bar.” He ignores Shepard’s squawk of disapproval and slams his hand down on the manual close button. He listens to the swoosh-click of the door with satisfaction before he walks over to lie on the bed and wait for Shepard. He exhales and silently prays to the spirits that Shepard doesn’t murder him for this. Hopefully Vakarian will keep her distracted enough.

Thankfully, Shepard puts on the dress and heels without any grumbling. She even sits down in front of the bathroom mirror and applies human make-up on her face after she puts on the dress. It’s nothing like what turian women do, so Shepard allows him to watch and observe her. He leans against the bathroom wall and looks at her in the mirror with absolute awe and mild terror. “No touching” was her only warning. Frankly, Nihlus doesn’t think that he wants to go a single step closer to the stuff. Putting a pointy brush that close to your eyeballs was _dangerous_.

Otherwise, they make it to Flux without any _incidents_. Nihlus thanks the Spirits above for small mercies like that. Shepard seems to take this more seriously than she’s ever done with any other missions. Then again, Nihlus has never seen her on a stealth mission before; he’s never recommended her for one. Shepard sheds her explosive personality in favor of a more bland and subtle character.

Nihlus hates it.

It’s simply so… Bland. Toneless. Unimpressionable. Nothing like what Shepard was.

He wonders if this was a good idea at all. Shepard catches his glance and breaks her cover once just to make a face at him. “You really aren’t going to tell me about the target, aren’t you?” she sighs. “Fine, I’ll just drift around the bar and find any guys who look me up and down. I’m _not_ dancing though. I could kill a man on the dancefloor with my dancing _and not in the good way_.”

Nihlus churrs softly and replies, “You’ll be fine, Shepard. You’re just back-up if I need it. I’ll let you know if I do.”

Shepard arches an eyebrow as she dryly says, “Sure, sure, leave the actual recon specialist hanging. Great. Love it. Fantastic idea, Nihlus.”

“No, seriously,” Nihlus says. He even leans in closer to Shepard to emphasize, “Loosen up. Be yourself. You’re just not Shepard when you do that weird cover thing of yours.”

Shepard laughs, bright and loud and _normal_ , and says, “You haven’t even seen any of my other covers. I’ve got so many acts: the intelligent CEO persona, the humble country bumpkin, the conceited rich kid, the tired policewoman, and more. I was _trained_ for sniping, for infiltration, and for more than that. It’s my _job_.”

Nihlus pauses and looks Shepard up and down. Frankly, he can’t believe it. Even Anderson had told him about Shepard’s penchant for fire and explosives. It just seems so discordant with her personality. Shepard waves slightly with her fingers and leaves, probably for the bar. Nihlus sighs and hopes that she doesn’t get into too much trouble. He heads over to the other end of the bar to drown his worries in a good old-fashioned drink.

Just as his drink is set down in front of him, Nihlus catches a glimpse of Vakarian. He looks rather… Uncomfortable. Especially since a gaggle of drunken turian girls have started to gather around him. _A curse of being pretty,_ Nihlus supposes. It’s the same group of girls he had to fend off the minute he stepped into the club with Shepard. With a groan, Nihlus grabs his drink and starts gulping it down while keeping track of Vakarian through the crowd. Once he’s done, he slams the glass back down on the bar and tosses his credit chit at the bartender.

“Seen someone that you’re interested in?” the asari bartender quips as she swipes it through. A small beep follows shortly after, and Nihlus murmurs, “Something like that, yeah, but not in the way that you’re thinking of.” With that, he pushes his chair away from the bar and starts striding through the crowd to find Vakarian.

However, out of the corner of his eye, he can see the flicker of Shepard’s dress. _Shit,_ he thinks viciously. She must have seen his sudden movement and followed up on him. To find the damn fictional target. Just as Nihlus is oh so close to reaching Vakarian, Shepard suddenly clears her throat behind him and says in a honey-sweet tone, “Just the person I was looking for, Nihlus.” Nihlus freezes and turns around ever so slowly, and there she is. The woman herself

Shepard has a polite smile on her face and a drink in her hand, and her foot is softly tapping to the rhythm of the music that pulsates through the air with its heavy beat. She looks perfectly at ease among the hot and heavy crowds that move through the dance floor. “Have you seen anyone that you’re interested in?” she asks lightly. Shepard takes a single step closer and murmurs, “Never thought I’d see you this invested in someone before. I’d like to see who’s got you this riled up, _Kryik_.” The way she says his voice and taps her foot again with expectation is so subtle, but the meaning is absolutely clear:  _where is the mark, Kryik?_

Nihlus almost bursts out laughing at that point. Shepard’s voice is soft and low, and her tones are so subtle and delicate that he can scarcely believe that this is the same woman who screams into her comms and flings grenades and keeps geth kill counts with deadly accuracy. She’s a completely different woman, and it almost scares him a bit. Who knew that the Commander had it in her?

“Spectre Kryik? Shepard? Is that you?” Vakarian’s voice rings out over the sound of the bass beat.

Shepard’s mouth drops open slightly, but she quickly erases the momentary surprise off her face as she turns around and says brightly, “Officer Vakarian?”

Vakarian shoulders through the turian girls around him and waves at Nihlus and Shepard.

Nihlus flicks a mandible in reply and says, “Well, well, well, look who it is. C-Sec Officer Vakarian himself.”

Vakarian grimaces, “Don’t say that. That makes me think that you’re talking to my father instead of me. Vakarian’s good, or Garrus if you want.”

“Nihlus is fine too. No need for excessive formalities. Never liked them anyways,” Nihlus laughs. He pushes Shepard towards Vakarian as he continues, “This is Shepard. Oh, wait, silly me. You’ve met her before already. I think I saw someone that I knew among the crowd, and I’d hate to bore Shepard with turian politics. I’m sure that you two would get along just fine for a couple of minutes while I handle business. Excuse me.”

Without even waiting for Shepard’s reply, Nihlus leaves the two alone. From there, he ducks between kissing couples and swaying bodies to get to the restroom. “Damn it,” Nihlus mutters. “The _things_ I do for her.” He pulls up a chat from his omni-tool and texts an excuse to Shepard in front of the restroom door.

_Didn’t want mark to get suspicious if Vakarian was there. C-Sec, you know? Could you distract Vakarian for the night while I get the mark? Thanks._

“There,” Nihlus breathes out once he finishes typing. “That should be good enough.”

“What should be good enough?” a voice asks with a musical lilt. Nihlus glances up to see another turian girl, and judging from her subharmonics, she’s more than interested in him. She’s not bad-looking either; downright gorgeous with her slim waist and bright eyes. Nihlus flexes his mandibles as he hums, “Nothing much, just got rid of some business and work. I’ll be free for the rest of the night now.”

“Oh, that certainly sounds interesting,” she laughs. “Care to spend it with me then?”

“Why not?” Nihlus says and nudges her slightly. “I’d never lose an opportunity to spend time with a lovely woman.”

Nihlus’s side of the night ends quite nicely, actually, and he stumbles home after a good long test of his reach and flexibility. The girl only wanted a one-night stand, and so did he. He checks his omni-tool as his shuttle trundles across the Citadel back to his ward. Shepard only replied a brief " _will do."_ to his text.

A smile starts to grow on Nihlus’s face as he reads through the rest of the texts. An hour later, Shepard texts: _i’m gonna be busy for the rest of the night_

After that, a couple more hours pass according to the timestamp on the texts until Shepard abruptly texts: _just going to call in sick early. hangover might be vicious tmrw. can you tell the office? thanks._

The next text, only fifteen minutes afterwards, states: _just remembered: i have a practice session with saren. he’s gonna be pissed that i didn’t make it. do NOT tell him anything else. thanks, ur the best, nihlus._

Nihlus shudders as he imagines Saren’s rage at “the insolent human’s tardiness” and fervently prays that Saren never finds about his role in the entire thing. Judging from her texts, Shepard doesn’t seem to be too mad about the way events turned out, and hopefully, she can shut up and stop being so moony about her brief crush. His shuttle grinds to a halt at his station, and Nihlus steps out and breathes in the crisp, engineered Citadel air. He can sleep for the rest of the night with the knowledge that he did his Spirit-given duty as a best friend.

He’ll deal with the fallout later.


	5. a little friendly competition

Nihlus sighs as he circles around Saren. “Listen,” he complains in a loud, squawking tone. “She’s out of my control now. I can’t do anything about Shepard now. She’s a full-fledged Spectre, and I’m not her mentor anymore. Stop complaining to me about all the problems she creates. Why won’t you just talk to her yourself?”

“Because,” Saren grits out. “She is an imbecile and a poor representation of the human race as a whole.”

Nihlus pauses to joke, “I thought you thought the entire human race was a silly excuse for a sentient race.”

Saren snarls and lunges at him. Nihlus quickly dodges out of the way, and his bare feet slide across the training mat with more ease than he expected. He quickly regains his balance and throws in his own punch. Saren grabs his wrist and tries to snap it down, but Nihlus slots his leg between Saren’s to use his leg spur to leverage Saren away from him. With a grunt, he pulls his leg toward him, and with the use of his body weight, he tackles Saren down on the training mat with a thud. Saren digs his claws into the thin slit of skin between Nihlus’s wrist plates, and Nihlus lets out a small yelp. With that single moment of distraction, Saren rolls Nihlus over and slams the flat of his palm down on Nihlus’s solar plexus. Nihlus lets out another yelp, and the breath gets knocked out of his lungs. Saren’s weight presses his leg spurs down uncomfortably against the map, and although Nihlus tries to rotate his legs into a more comfortable position, Saren doesn’t allow him to move a single inch.

He really shouldn’t underestimate Saren, even if it _is_ just a training brawl.

Nihlus sighs, “Alright, alright, you win.” Saren only gives him an icy glare which makes Nihlus sputter out, “What do you want me to do about Shepard? So what if she misses her training session with you? Both of you always shred each other to tiny bits, or at least, you _would_ if she didn’t wear training armor to make up for the lack of plates and claws. By the Spirits, file a formal complaint with the Council if you’re really that annoyed by it.”

“She has missed three sessions,” Saren says in a clipped tone. “She has neglected her email correspondence with me, and if she was busy with other Council work, it would be forgivable. However, I hear that she’s been spending most of her time with a certain C-Sec officer. That is unacceptable behavior for a Spectre.”

Nihlus rolls his eyes and says, “So, are you going to let me up any time soon?”

Saren shakes his head, and Nihlus lets his subharmonics trill with subordination. “I’ll do what you asked me to do, Saren,” he cajoles. Saren’s gaze hardens before it relents slightly. He gets up with ease and brushes off some imaginary dust off his plates as Nihlus gets up. Nihlus stretches to work out some of the kinks in his back and sighs, “Well, that was an interesting sparring session as always, Saren. I’ll get back to you on the Shepard issue later. Over kava, maybe?”

“The usual place,” Saren confirms.

The truth is, Saren wasn’t entirely right, but he wasn’t entirely wrong either.

His dear friend, Commander Shepard, _has_ been spending an inordinate amount of time with a certain Officer Vakarian. Nihlus only thanks his lucky stars that the younger Vakarian has none of his father’s tendencies for complete paperwork. He shudders at even the thought of it; the older Vakarian had a penchant for snapping at Nihlus’s heels far too many times for “insufficient paperwork.” However, Shepard was never one to abandon or neglect her duties. She still kept up her end of the paperwork and routinely checked in with the Council for any updates on her current mission postings. But the rest of the non-Council required matters? All that went down the drain in favor of the Commander’s own personal plans. And of course, the Commander has _many_ of them.

That also included Shepard’s weekly “Let’s Make Saren As Irritated As Possible” sessions. Namely, sparring. Saren never approved of Shepard’s induction into the Spectre ranks, but he seemed to take these sparring sessions rather seriously. Saren once called it “a way to cure her of humanity’s shortcomings” and Nihlus thinks that this is Saren’s way of indirectly criticizing his own mentorship. Also, Nihlus thinks that after more than a year of Constant Shepard Exposure, Saren considered her to be more of a friendly acquaintance rather than scum scraped off the bottom of a sewer drain like he did at first. Of course, Saren would never admit that, but Nihlus kept his thoughts about that to himself. Either way, Nihlus never bothered to involve himself in it. For one, he didn’t want to face a furious Shepard _or_ a furious Saren, and he also figured that it was the best way for them to work out their animosities. It encouraged a little friendly competition. Friendly competition was _always_ a good thing in Nihlus’s book.

Nihlus grabs his gym bag and heads off to shower off the sweat and grime from the sparring while Saren stays behind to finish up the last of his workout. As the cool water drips down his plates, Nihlus considers the pros and cons of confronting Shepard about her newfound social priority.

Option One. He could directly confront Shepard about her increasing amount of “We’re Going To Pretend That This Isn’t A Date” meetings with Officer Vakarian. This could either go poorly or very very poorly. Shepard preferred blunt honesty herself, but he honestly can’t figure out a way to say “you’re fucking Vakarian too much and Saren’s getting pissed” without Shepard getting angry or Shepard making Saren angry. Nihlus wants _none_ of that.

Option Two. He could talk to Saren about it and tell him the truth. Instantly, Nihlus shakes his head at the mere thought of the idea. Saren’s opinion of Shepard — however low it may be — would be absolutely shattered, and Nihlus would have to scrape the remains of Commander Shepard off the floor of wherever Saren ran into Shepard. Possibly the training room, possibly one of the many conference rooms of the Citadel Council tower, or possibly even one of the public plazas in the Citadel.

Option Three. Talk to Vakarian about it. That option seems far more appealing to Nihlus since as far as he knows, Vakarian is less willing to murder a person on sight. Frankly, Nihlus hates the fact that he’s resorted to this kind of method of evaluating a person, but Shepard loves her explosives and Saren loves his guns. The two are more alike than they’d be willing to admit, and Nihlus would rather have the “you’re fucking too much” chat with Vakarian than Shepard. At least Vakarian would spare him the details.

With that, Nihlus shuts off the water and dries himself off before he heads back to finish up the day’s work. It’s a relatively quiet day at the office. When Nihlus isn’t off on distant planets saving the galaxy, he’s usually relegated to office work like filing his mission reports, organizing and sending out files to other agents out in the field, or other confidential things of that nature. It’s the Council’s way of keeping Spectres occupied and their way of ensuring that confidential paperwork stays confidential. He runs through the files quickly with a practiced ease, and when he finishes everything, he finds that he’s done one hour sooner than he estimated. A smile crosses his face, and his mandibles stretch wide in a grin. But just as quickly as the smile comes, it drops off his face when he realizes that he has the Shepard issue to solve.

Classic Shepard. Always causing problems no matter where she is or what she’s doing.

He shoves aside a few files — they were supposed to be Tela Vasir’s work anyways — and drafts a few emails.

 

> _“Hey, you’re fucking Shepard so much that one of my superiors is getting Suspicious.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Can you stop dating Shepard”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Salutations, cease and desist in your courtship of the human”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“pls just make sure she gets her work done, spirits, im begging u”_

 

Nihlus drags his claws down his face dramatically as he groans loudly. In fact, he even makes a poor salarian secretary check in on him at his cubicle. He has to shove himself back up into an upright position and paste on the widest grin he can. Somehow, he doesn’t think that works since that only displays all of his teeth in their sharp glory. The salarian backs away and leaves him alone to his cubicle and an empty draft of an email. Finally, he decides to just ask Vakarian out for a friendly drink. After all, he _should_ get to know the boyfriend of his best friend better.

Immediately after that thought flickers past in his head, Nihlus freezes and tightens his claws. Best friend? Was Shepard his best friend? He thinks back to all the different friends and colleagues he’s had. It’s true; Shepard was always the one he went out with for drinks, the one he usually chose for partner missions, the one he trusted to watch his back in the Terminus systems. He doesn’t like the thought at all. How could an impulsive human like her end up being his best friend? It’s a bizarre concept, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that there’s some kind of magnetic charisma about the woman that draws everyone in. Shepard gives him the same smile and same trust that he gives her, and yes, she must be. Nihlus sighs and leans back in his chair. A best friend. Who would have thought.

Work seems to drag on interminably, but the minute his shift is up, Nihlus is surprised to see how much time has passed. He veritably sprints out of the office and hauls his ass all the way down to the bar they agreed on. Vakarian is already there waiting, and when Nihlus checks the time, he finds that he’s five minutes late. Vakarian must have inherited the need to be perfectly on time from his father. The old Vakarian always got up in his face about submitting his Spectre reports on time, especially like that one time he broke several benches in the Presidium while pursuing a criminal. Oh, C-Sec was _not_ happy that day.

Nihlus shakes his head and strides forward to slide into the bar seat next to Vakarian. Vakarian nods at him and hums a low trill of welcome in his sub-vocals. Nihlus answers back with the same trill and says, “Thanks for meeting me out here.”

“No problem,” Vakarian answers. “I’d like to get to know you too. Shepard talks about you a lot.” He churrs with amusement after that last sentence and says, “She always gets excited about the stories she can tell. There’s one about a molotov cocktail in Omega that she loves too.”

Nihlus sighs, “That story is almost entirely Shepard. I was just the bystander in her fiery hellscape. But that’s good, I guess?”

An awkward silence settles over them after that, and Nihlus vainly tries to keep the conversation up by talking about minor things. Apparently, Vakarian has a sister, and he was going to try and apply to the Spectre program. His father influenced him to go into C-Sec instead. Nihlus contemplates that for a moment and tries to imagine training Vakarian instead of Shepard. It probably would have been much less eventful. Finally, Nihlus opens his mouth to ask about the Shepard issue, but a loud voice behind them rings out, “Whoa, what are you two doing here?”

When they turn around, they see Shepard with an entire bottle of alcohol in her hand. She’s wearing a simple dress and heels, and she’s got two human friends with her. Ashley Williams and Kaidan Alenko, if Nihlus remembers their names properly. Shepard hands the bottle off to Williams and brushes off some dust off her dress before she steps forward. After a few steps, she glances behind and says, “I’ll meet you guys at the booth after chatting with these guys. Don’t worry about me, you can start the bottle without me.” They nod and leave while Shepard turns her full attention on them. “So,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Nihlus drawls. “Can a turian not drink anymore? What about you? I could ask you the same thing.”

“Alliance party thing,” Shepard answers brusquely. “I came for the alcohol and to see a few familiar faces. No dancing for me, no thank you.” Vakarian almost chokes on his drink when Shepard mentions dancing. Nihlus deeply suspects that Vakarian has seen his own fair share of the nightmare also known as “Shepard Dancing.”

“Well, I wanted to know your friend better,” Vakarian says first. “I’ve already met your Alliance friends but not your Spectre friends.”

“What Spectre friends?” Shepard asks blankly.

Alright, two things. One: how has Vakarian already met Shepard’s Alliance friends? It took a year for Nihlus to meet them properly, and Nihlus had to communicate with the Alliance nearly every week during Shepard’s initial training period. Two: did Shepard not consider him a friend? He whines a little bit in his sub-vocals as he bluntly interjects, “Excuse me?”

Shepard absentmindedly pats him as she says, “Oh, _you_. Don’t worry, you’re a friend. My best friend.” Nihlus hates to admit it, but a rush of relief floods his mind at that.

“Uh, don’t you have more than just one Spectre friend?” Vakarian carefully asks.

Shepard wrinkles her brow as she considers it. Then, she said, “There’s Tela Vasir, but she’s a bit of a bitch.”

“Shepard,” Vakarian tiredly warns.

Nihlus chuckles and says, “Well, Shepard’s kinda right for once.”

“Hey now,” Shepard cuts in. “I’m right multiple times per day.”

“Back to the topic?” Vakarian asks.

Shepard pats him on the shoulder as she says, “Ooh yeah, sorry, babe. Uhhh, there’s Jondum Bau? He’s a cool salarian, holds his alcohol well, has terrible taste in TV shows. And oh! Can’t forget about Saren, can we?”

“You’re… Friends with _the_ Saren Arterius?” Vakarian warily asks. His sub-vocals thrum with uneasiness, and Nihlus can’t blame him.

“Friends is a very loose way to describe it,” Nihlus explains. He supposes that humans might have different standards for friendship, but he can’t see any possible way that Saren could be categorized as a _friend._

Shepard shrugs nonchalantly and says, “Eh, Saren and I can fight every once in a while, but we’re buddies.”

Nihlus dryly follows up by saying, “They fight every time they see each other.” The last time Shepard and Saren ran into each other, they argued about who broke the printer. Nihlus was the one who actually broke the printer, but both Shepard and Saren were so convinced that the other person had done it.

Shepard sticks her tongue out at Nihlus and snorts, “No, I do _not._ Not true at all.”

Nihlus starts counting off the instances with his claws and quickly runs out. He’s only got six to work with anyways. “The last time you saw him, you argued over who broke the printer. Which, by the way, thanks for taking the blame for me. Saren would have killed me otherwise.” He raises his hand to stop Shepard’s loud squawk and continues, “Then, the other time, you two ended up arguing over who should move out of the way for the elevator.”

“And I was right because I said it was me since I got there first,” Shepard says proudly.

“And _I_ took the opportunity to take the elevator first because you two were too busy to use it.”

Shepard narrows her eyes at him and says, “That was real shitty of you, you know.”

Nihlus waves it off and then points to her as he continues, “You’re the one who ended up taking the stairs with Saren in order to keep arguing.” He glances over at Vakarian and laughs, “She called it ‘establishing her dominance.’” He even adds those air quotes that humans are so fond of.

Vakarian actually laughs too and smiles, “That’s adorable.” His sub-vocals veritably thrum with affection.

“Aw, thank you,” Shepard beams. She nudges his arm and flashes him a brilliant grin that could light up the entire club.

“And _that_ , my friends, is true love because spirits know _I_ certainly can’t believe that,” Nihlus groans.

“Well, why don’t we meet up with your friends?” Vakarian tries before Nihlus can get started on another Shepard story. “Have a drink or two? That sounds fun.”

“Hmm,” Shepard muses. “I don’t know if Saren wants to come, maybe Jondum, definitely not inviting Tela.”

“Tela will probably invite herself if she finds out, you know,” Nihlus points out.

Shepard turns on him and gives him a good old-fashioned Shepard glare as she says, “Well, you’ll just have to shut your mandibles and _not_ tell her then.” Her expression lightens as she says, “Ooh, I could invite Kaiden and Ashley too.”

“Alright, sounds good with me,” Nihlus concedes.

Vakarian brings up his omnitool display and starts punching in numbers. “I’ll figure out a good date and time if you let me know when everyone is available,” he says as he brings up his calendar.

Shepard loops her arm around Vakarian’s carapace, taking care to avoid the more _sensitive_ parts of his waist. “And I’ll find a decent bar with good drinks,” she smirks.

Nihlus gives both of them a miniature salute as he says, “And now, I will leave because sooner or later, you two will start getting more touchy, and I do _not_ want to be a third wheel.”

Shepard laughs at that. “Who said you weren’t a third wheel from the beginning?” she asks with a bright glint in her eye.

Nihlus splays his claws over his carapace — a gesture Shepard taught him — and dramatically says, “You wound me.” But without another fuss or Shepard story, he slides off the bar stool and leaves the two alone to do whatever lovers do in clubs. He won’t lie; he’s more than a little apprehensive of whatever’s going to go down between Shepard and Saren at this little get-together. He sighs and shoves the thought out of his mind. He’s done all he can really do at this point, and the rest is up to Shepard and Saren. They’re not comforting thoughts, but they’re thoughts alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, it's been so long since i updated this!! i'll try to keep updating more frequently ;u;  
> let me know what you thought of the new chapter in the comments and leave kudos if you liked it <3


	6. three spectres walk into a bar

So, three Spectres walk into a bar.

It sounds like the start of a bad joke, and Nihlus doesn’t want to be around for the punch line. Actually, he assumes that he’ll punched at some point during the night. That will make it both literal and metaphorical. It’ll undoubtedly involve Shepard and Saren and a fire somewhere in the mix for good measure.  Nihlus knows that the flamethrower isn’t a joke; Shepard actually set fire to the back of a seedy bar on some offworld colony during a mission once. She gave Nihlus a beatific smile after the mission debriefing as she murmured, “The wonders of alcohol.” 

So, three Spectres, a C-Sec officer, and two Alliance soldiers walk into a bar. 

“Okay, everyone,” Shepard declares loudly. “Time for introductions. You can’t make them when you’re drunk, so we might as well get them over with.”

Saren gives her a withering look as he mutters, “And of course, the humans will be the first to become inebriated.”

Shepard gives him a wide grin before she says, “Shut up, Saren.” Without even missing a beat, she points at the Alliance soldiers first and says, “Okay, that’s Ashley Williams. Tough as nails and one of the best gunnery chiefs I’ve ever met. That’s Kaiden Alenko, a top-notch sentinel who’s a real sweetheart.” Her grin turns slightly vicious as she moves her finger down the line and continues, “Of course, we’ve got Mr. Sour Pants Saren Arterius over there. You’ve all seen him in the news feeds with that same exact frown, so he shouldn’t be a surprise. That’s Nihlus ‘I was voted Hottest Spectre On The Citadel’ Kryik and C-Sec Officer Garrus Vakarian.” 

Saren nearly chokes and sputters when Shepard says the words, “Mr. Sour Pants Saren Arterius.” Nihlus, on the other hand, preens when Shepard mentions his award because quite frankly, he’s ridiculously proud of that title. He outplayed so many asari, turians, several salarians, and even a  _ hanar  _ for that title. However, Shepard’s grin turns to a soft smile when she says Garrus’s name, and that’s the thing that Nihlus immediately latches onto. Oh, they’re definitely more than just fuck-buddies.

“Sour pants?” Saren says with an ironically sour tone and equally sour expression. “Your inability to display manners or propriety exceeds all expectations.” He grumbles under his breath, “Not that there were very many to begin with.”

Nihlus brushes Saren off by waving his talons in the air nonchalantly and saying, “Oh, Shepard, I can't believe you remembered that little piddly thing. Perhaps… You remembered because you were jealous that I got voted the hottest and not you?”

Shepard snorts loudly and laughs, “Oh, Nihlus, why would I  _ ever _ be jealous of that? I’m an acquired taste. You appeal to the common masses and all that, and there aren’t that many humans on the citadel compared to other species. Listen, if we were running this competition on Earth, I’d win. And Saren? Don’t worry; I never have any expectations for you.”

Kaidan — the sentinel, Nihlus thinks — raises his eyebrows high. Such a peculiar motion. Nihlus tries to mimic the same thing with his own brow, but he only succeeds in flapping his mandibles a little helplessly. Vakarian gives him a weird look, and Nihlus gives the exact same expression back. Anyhow, Kaidan, the human with strange eyebrow movements, says slowly, “Oooookay, I’m going to go to the bar and get us some drinks. Any preferences?”

Ashley nods and replies, “Good idea, Kaidan. Mind if I join you? You might want the extra hands.”

“Okay,” Kaidan agrees. His gaze flickers between Shepard and Saren before he says, “Ashely and I will go get drinks while you four find us a good table.”

He starts to leave, and Ashley follows him. However, she stops by Shepard and bends down to quietly say, “Don’t start a fight without me.”

Shepard glances up at her and laughs: a bright, tinkling sound instead of the usual cackle, guffaw, or eerily fake polite laugh. “Don’t worry, Ash,” she says with a sparkle in her eyes. “I’ve got you covered for that. If there’s a fight, I’ll make sure you’ll be there for it.”

“Good,” Ashley says with a tap on Shepard’s shoulder. She flicks her hair back with a practiced motion before sauntering into the thrumming crowd of the club.

“That doesn’t mean you can start whenever you want, Shepard,” Nihlus warns. He does  _ not _ want to clean up the ashes of another fire tonight.

Shepard rolls her eyes and says dryly, “Stop being such a stick in the mud, Nihlus.”

Nihlus lets out a long trill in response before he remembers that Shepard is human and knows absolutely nothing about turian vocalizations. He sifts through his relatively Shepard-centric memory of human customs before remembering. Nihlus opens his mandibles wide to let out a gusting breath, similar to a human sigh, and comically raises his shoulders up and down for a human shrug. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to start a fight in a bar” he says. “Don’t do it in front of a C-Sec officer.”

That gets a snort out of Shepard; she always found his human impersonations funny. Over half of human motions and gestures were ridiculously comical anyways. There was one gesture that Shepard  _ loved _ called a “thumbs-up.” The closest turian equivalent to the motion was a military signal that meant “kill it.” Before Nihlus got used to Shepard’s idiosyncrasies, he thought she was just constantly ready to murder someone. That isn’t  _ wrong _ , but it’s a memory that makes Nihlus smile for real now. 

Vakarian manages to find them a good place to sit. It’s a little nook in the bar’s wall that’s big enough to comfortably fit them, humans and all. Somehow, Nihlus gets wedged between Shepard and Saren, and Vakarian sits directly in front of Shepard. He  _ hates _ this position. Honestly, he wants to sit on the far end of the table for the quickest get-away if a fight breaks out between Shepard and Saren. Now, he’s directly in the crossfire, and he can’t get out.

“So, where did you meet this…” Saren trails off and sizes Vakarian up and down. There’s a curl to his sub-vocals that makes his own thoughts about Vakarian evident. Nihlus almost groans out loud and stomps on Saren’s foot under the bar table. Saren retaliates by digging his claws between his leg plates. Nihlus almost yelps with pain, but he should’ve known that Saren would give equal payback. Although, he doesn’t think he stomped on Saren’s foot  _ that _ hard.

Shepard barrels on with the conversation, unheeding of sub-vocals. “I met him on the Presidium,” she says with a beam. “Nicest C-Sec guy I’ve ever met!”

“You never have good run-ins with C-Sec,” Nihlus points out.

Vakarian trills out a sub-vocal laugh before he admits, “We have a special designation for cases involving you, Shepard. It’s on the same category as public disasters and high-danger situations.”

Shepard gasps, but it’s one of gleeful surprise rather than offense. “No way,” she breathes out. “That’s  _ amazing _ . So, is there a special team assigned to my situations or something like that?”

“Yeah, we had to make the designation after the traffic incident,” Vakarian explains. He shuffles his feet under the table, and Nihlus almost laughs after he hears the scraping sound. “The wreckage you left behind was impressive, and it also took over a month to repair,” Vakarian concludes.

Shepard snorts, “It wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

“No civilian casualties, but hundreds of thousands of credits in total damage reimbursements,” Saren interjects. “You may have caught the criminal in the end, but it was not worth destroying two sky-cars, a sushi restaurant, and more than thirty-three windows.”

Oh no.

Nihlus knows it means  _ war _ when Saren gets involved in a “discussion” with Shepard.

A deadly smile curls around Shepard’s lips as she leans forward to prop her elbows up on the table. It’s a habit that Saren hates. She laces her fingers together and says, “I thought you were the one to say that the ends justify the means, Spectre Saren Arterius.”

“Only when it is done correctly,” Saren answers. His expression and sub-vocals are devoid of anything, and on the surface, he seems perfectly calm and placid. Nihlus knows better. Nihlus has seen Saren blast a batarian’s face off with that same voice and tone. It’s good enough to fool Vakarian though, and Nihlus sees the way Vakarian’s mandibles flex and relax.

Bad sign. Bad sign. Bad, bad sign.

“Then, tell me, Saren Arterius,” Shepard starts off. Her voice is smooth, velvet soft, and Nihlus knows she’s mimicking Saren now. “To what degree do you classify something as correct? Because I seem to be remembering a certain instance in the Terminus Systems. Of course, I wouldn’t dream of talking about it in public, but does that ring a little bell?”

Saren’s jaw tightens, and Nihlus remembers. There was a case on the black market trade in illegal turian weapons that Saren specifically requested for himself. It was when Nihlus was still under his tutelage, so Nihlus had the express privilege of following along. He quickly learned that Saren followed two principles.

  1. Never kill anyone without a good reason.
  2. You can always find a reason to kill someone.



Those two principles precede Saren as part of his infamous reputation, and Shepard knows it all too well. She drives the point home by drawling, “236, Saren. 236.”

That was the precise number of lives lost in the Terminus Systems after Saren sacrificed an entire ship in favor of shutting down a batarian black market.

Saren sucks in a sharp breath, and his subvocals stretch over into murderous intent. Vakarian stiffens and moves his hand over to his belt where his pistol would have been if he was on-duty. And in the middle of all of that, Ashley and Kaidan come back with the drinks. 

“Hey, you, Spectre,” Ashley says, completely unaware of the tension in the air. “Scoot over a little bit.” 

Saren reluctantly moves over, and Ashley moves into the bar seat just enough to slide drinks to Vakarian, Shepard, and Nihlus at the far end of the booth. She then takes her seat beside Kaidan and Vakarian on the other side of the booth.

“So, did we miss anything fun?” Kaidan tries as he glances at Shepard and Saren. Nihlus wonders how he can't sense the tension between Saren and Shepard. Or perhaps the sentinel knows about it and is just trying to defuse it. Poorly, in Nihlus's opinion, but at least it's an attempt.

Saren grunts while Vakarian hurries to say, “Nothing.”

“Hm, I wouldn’t call it nothing, but yeah, let’s go with nothing,” Nihlus says before he takes a sip. The alcohol tastes like an entire blessing after that mini showdown between Saren and Shepard, and he snorts, “Might be better that way.”  Both Saren and Shepard glare at him, and Nihlus raises his hands up mockingly. “Was I the one ready to rip out someone’s throat earlier?” he asks. “No, I didn’t think so. Alright, drinks! Fantastic, I love a good dextro cocktail. Was it made with that good alcohol from Cipritine? Ooh, I think it  _ is. _ Excellent, we’ll have a good time out tonight.”

The rest of the night seems relatively foggy after a few more rounds of drinks. Vakarian manages to cajole Shepard into dancing with him on the dancefloor — something he quickly learns to regret — and everyone else watches with great amusement. Somehow, he gets roped into dancing with Shepard as well, and Shepard steps on his feet for a record number of 42 times. After that, Vakarian and Shepard disappear. Probably off to some dark corner to kiss and be horribly embarrassing in public. Saren gets up to get another drink and Nihlus occupies his time by chatting with Ashley and Kaidan who are far more understandable creatures than Shepard. Sometimes, Shepard uses human idioms that don’t even exist in the general human vocabulary, and it’s nice to finally have a normal conversation with a human without breaking out a giant, virtual dictionary. 

Then, Nihlus hears a crash and the sound of glass breaking. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know it’s Shepard. Kaidan lets out an exasperated sigh while Ashley grins, bright and bold. “I win the bet, Alenko,” she murmurs before she stands up and weaves her into the crowd, tracking the source of the sound.

Kaidan and Nihlus share a look before Kaidan groans, “I made a bet with Ashley that Shepard wouldn’t get into a fight.”

“Sounds like you made a losing bet,” Nihlus tosses back. He downs his drink since he doubts he’ll have time to finish it later. He makes a beeline after Ashley and wonders who started it this time.

When he gets there, there’s a ring of people around Shepard and Saren. They circle each other, eyeing each other’s weaknesses like the pavona birds that hunted in the Palaven wilds. Saren’s subvocals are veritably screaming with aggression, and the broken plate on Saren’s left arm proves that Shepard’s more than ready to bring a fight. Shepard herself sports three gashes across her cheek that are steadily leaking red, and Nihlus grimaces. He still feels like red is the weirdest color for blood and wonders why human evolution never considered the nice, normal color of blue. 

He spots Ashley along the edge of the ring, and he somehow manages to shoulder his way over to her. “So,” he starts off, tone light and casual, almost as if he was striking up a conversation with someone at a cafe or something of the sort. “Should we interrupt them or nah?”

Ashley replies, “Oh, I was debating if I should get a punch in or two.”

“Oh, Shepard can pull her punches,” Nihlus laughs. “Trust me, I have experience.”

“No, I was thinking about punching Saren,” Ashley snorts. She points over to Saren’s broken plate and says, “Man, I didn’t know you could break plates like that. How hard did Shepard have to punch to break one of those?” She looks Nihlus up and down before musing, “I wonder what I would have to do to break one too.”

“First off, stop looking at my plates like that,” Nihlus says. “If you’re going to break a plate, go break a food plate or break Saren’s.  _ Not _ mine. These are prize-winning plates, Gunnery Chief Williams. I got photographed by Citadel Magazine for how pretty my plates are. Besides, you’d have to break a couple of knuckles to crack plate. Shepard probably slammed him into the ground with at least some biotic force to crack his plate that badly.” He winces at the thought and mutters, “Hurts like hell, probably. I’d hate to be the one fighting Shepard right now.”

Just as Nihlus mutters that last sentence, Saren darts in in a blur of silver to Shepard’s left. He twists just enough to grab her arm and suplex her into the ground. However, Shepard reaches up to dig her fingernails in the crack that she left in his plate, and Saren screeches with pain. “Not so fast, Arterius,” she grits out in pain. She adds more pressure to Saren’s arm to give her enough wiggle room to get out of his grip. Then, she gives him a solid kick to the waist and punches him in the soft spot between his collarbone and jawline. Saren chokes on his words that he begins to say and stumbles back.

Shepard claps her hands together and brushes some dust off her legs before she says, “Want another punch?”

Saren coughs before giving her a withering look. “Go right ahead, Shepard, and let us see how weak humans are,” he sneers.

She shrugs and says, “Man, this reminds me of those training sessions we used to have back at HQ. I never should’ve told you what suplexing was.” Shepard cocks her head and muses, “We haven’t had one of those in a really long time. Nihlus always goes on and on about how training sessions are super important to turians or whatever. Friendship and blowing off steam and all that.” 

Saren offers no answer, but his subvocals change to something more of embarrassment. Even though Shepard can’t detect the minute detail, sudden understanding dawns in her eyes and she exclaims, “Is that why you’re so cranky nowadays? Because I don’t spend enough time with you?”

“Absolutely not,” Saren immediately blusters. “Preposterous, you fool.”

Shepard sidles up to him and gives him another punch to the face. However, her punch lands a little too close to the mandible, and she winces when the sharp edge leaves a gash on the back of her hand. “Do you think we’re friends, Arterius?” she wonders. “Or maybe frenemies. Yeah, frenemies sounds about right. Never really thought about those training sessions that way before, but I can see why you might be pissed about it.” She claps Saren on the back and says, “Good fight, good fight. We ‘ought to have more. Now, let’s get Nihlus to handle this while we go to Huerta to get patched up.”

“That is… Agreeable,” Saren allows. He looks up at Nihlus among the crowd of people and jerks his hand over to the mess that they’ve made. “I trust in your ability to take care of the situation, Nihlus. We’ll be at Huerta.”

They move toward the exit, and the crowd parts way for them to pass through. Vakarian hurries to Shepard’s side and tries to support her as she walks, but Shepard simply gives him a thumbs-up and walks on her own. Kaidan and Ashley look at Nihlus, and Kaidan finally says, “I guess it would be too mean to leave him behind, right? We can’t just leave him like this to take care of the mess, right? Right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t feel too bad about it,” Ashley grumbles. “But I guess we gotta do the right thing, Mr. Angel Alenko.”

Nihlus looks back at the broken glasses, the overturned bar stools, and the streaks of blue and red blood that Saren and Shepard left behind on the floor. The music still goes on, but everyone else looks pale. Some hastily hide their omnitools that they were using to record the entire debacle, and Nihlus groans at the thought of having to handle the PR of this incident.

Looks like he has his work cut out for him. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possibly the most ooc thing i've ever written for mass effect, but then again, this entire thing could be called ooc. i rly missed writing something more light-hearted like this, and it's been ages since i updated. hopefully, you guys liked the update, and i'll try to write more soon. lmk what you thought in the comments! thanks for reading <3


	7. never bet against a spectre (or two)

Nihlus thinks he knows fear. He knows that blood and battle makes monsters out of people, and he’s seen it firsthand in geth attacks, in batarian slave rings, in places remote and in places closer to home. He’s done his fair share of Spectre work, and he’s gone undercover to see horrifying things beyond a normal person’s comprehension.

Everything in his experience pales in comparison to the likelihood of Shepard and Saren actually being friends.

Well, he reconsiders that statement. Some of the things in the galaxy are just too horrible to comprehend, and a friendship shouldn’t rank as highly on his list of “Terrible, Horrible, Nasty Things.” Still, the sentiment is still one of horror.

Shepard and Saren are friends now.

The connection is tenuous at best, but sometimes, he catches Shepard brewing extra kava for Saren in addition to her usual cups of coffee and kava for herself and Nihlus. Saren saves a seat for her at the really big Spectre meetings at HQ where the Councillors give their sanctimonious speeches about how saving the galaxy is actually a good thing to do. Shepard sends Saren off when he goes off on some mission to Omega. He comes back battered and bruised, and again, Nihlus sees Shepard and Vakarian come to the hangars to welcome him back. Nihlus used to be the only one sending Saren off and welcoming him back to the Citadel if he was there at the right time. Now, it feels strange to have Shepard there too.

He supposes that it’s good for Saren and Shepard to be friends. Or at the very least, it’s good that they can tolerate each other’s company now. After all, the expenses for all the damage control he had to call in after one of their fights was starting to reach astronomical amounts. The incident at the bar nearly tipped the credits set aside explicitly for “a Shepard and Saren situation.” 

But now, they’re all assigned to one large mission. Nihlus waits in the hangar. His gear is already stowed away on the SSV Normandy, an Alliance frigate they’ve been allowed to use for this mission. The debriefing was, well,  _ brief, _ and the only thing Nihlus knows so far is that they’re supposed to land on some Spirit-forsaken planet out in the middle of nowhere to exterminate an illegal lab. But if the Council chooses to assign not one Spectre but  _ three, _ it must be a cause for alarm. Nihlus’s personal concern is heightened when he considers the fact that the Council chose Saren  _ and _ Shepard  _ and _ himself. But also, he doesn’t understand why they would send three snipers into a job that seems like it requires more variety in a team. 

He doesn’t have to wait for long because he hears Shepard’s voice like a clarion echoing down the metal halls. It’s slightly muffled from the distance, but he thinks she’s saying something about the best ways to set fire to a building. If Nihlus had to pick one method, he thinks that Shepard would either go for one of her beloved grenades or her modded flamethrower. 

Shepard comes strolling down the hall, engaged in a debate with Saren.  _ Spirits save me,  _ Nihlus thinks to himself. He won’t be able to make this trip. He could leave the Citadel’s docks with his breath still living in his lungs, but he would come back to the Citadel either as a pile of ashes from one of Shepard’s grenades or a corpse shot dead by Saren’s sniper rifle. No, he doesn’t  _ want _ this mission anymore. He resolves to stay completely out of any fights or any arguments between the two. 

“Nihlus!” Shepard calls out when she glimpses him, skulking in the shadows. 

“Shepard, good to see you,” he answers. His subvocals thrum with genuine happiness. No matter how many times he might disparage and tease Shepard, she is a good friend. He nods at Saren and says, “And you too, Saren. Feels like I haven’t seen you since the last time you left to investigate something closer to home.”

Saren’s expression remains stoic and unreadable as always — down to the subvocals too — but he dips his head in a greeting as well. 

Shepard swings her arm around his carapace — her substitute for his too-tall shoulders — and claps him on the back. “It’s been a while since we’ve gone on a mission together, huh?” she says. Her cheer is infectious, and Nihlus can’t help but give her a low trill.

“Definitely,” he says. He pats Shepard’s head, taking care to not get his talons tangled in her hair, and asks, “So, leaving the boyfriend at home? Vakarian’s not here to send you off like he normally is.”

“Temporarily,” Shepard says. “He’s got a new case in one of the lower wards. You know how busy work can be. Besides, we’ve got some other company. Gotta welcome the crew here and all.”

“Crew?” Nihlus echoes.

Saren clicks his tongue and says, “We have been assigned a crew by the Council. No ifs, ands, or buts, according to Councillor Tevos.”

“I’m not mad about it at all,” Nihlus says. “I’m just excited to not be on clean-up duty as much.”

He doesn’t know what to expect from this new crew, but he certainly doesn’t expect a krogan to come lumbering down the hallway next. He assumes that the krogan must have lost his way or something, but Shepard gives a wave and calls out, “Wrex! Good to see you again. Welcome to the Normandy.” She glances over at Nihlus and Saren and jerks her thumb over to the krogan. “Urdnot Wrex. A mercenary and a battlemaster. He’ll be part of our team.”

“Commander Shepard,” the krogan returns. 

Nihlus gapes at him, mandible slack-jawed and subvocals veritably screaming with curiosity. “Since  _ when _ did you meet the members of our crew?” he says. His voice nears a squawk towards the end.

She only shrugs. “Good to meet the people you’re going to work with beforehand.”

Wrex rumbles a laugh at that and says, “Only a fool doesn’t want a krogan on their side during a firefight.” His gaze sharpens when it lands on Nihlus and Saren. “You didn’t mention you’d be working with turians, Shepard.”

“Well, no,”  Shepard says. “You’re not just working with turians. You’re working with me, and I’m not a turian.” She starts listing off names, using her fingers as a reference. “We’ve also got a quarian engineer aboard, an asari researcher, and a couple of Alliance soldiers. I don’t know if the Council approved some of our other members, but we could’ve had a drell sniper and a salarian scientist.” She pauses. “But we have a lot of snipers already. Nihlus, me, Saren. Yeah, that’s a lot.”

“Do you even count as a sniper?” Nihlus asks.

Saren quickly cuts in before Shepard can even speak. “She’s not.”

Shepard gives them all a withering glare, but before she can speak, a voice behind them all pipes up, “Is this the right place? Dock 63B?”

Nihlus glances behind him to see a quarian and two humans with familiar faces. Ashley and Kaidan. Ashley gives them a little salute and says, “Nice to see you again, Commander.”

“Phew, I thought I was lost,” the quarian sighs. “I’m Tali’Zorah nar Rayya, and I’ll be your engineer and mechanic for this mission.” She fdgets with the cloth hanging off her bodysuit. “And you all are?”

Introductions are made all around. Urdnot Wrex, Tali’Zorah nar Rayya, Ashley Williams, and Kaidan Alenko. An asari named Liara T’Soni comes late with a bag full of academic tablets and data-chips, but that comprises their motley crew. Shepard leads them all aboard, and Nihlus recognizes the smooth, burnished walls and accommodations of the Normandy. The last time he was aboard, he was there to evaluate Shepard herself. It feels like an eternity ago, and he marvels at how quickly time passed. If this felt like an age ago, then how did asari and krogan handle the centuries upon centuries that they lived? 

Shepard gives everyone a tour and warmly welcomes them all. There are a couple of humans already aboard the Normandy that are from the original Alliance crew. The pilot — Joker? Poker? — is there as well as Dr. Chakwas. He can’t quite remember the other humans’ names either. But Nihlus supposes that they’ve all been Council-approved. He doesn’t think Councillor Sparatus is particularly delighted about the recent collaborations with the Alliance, but it’s now a necessity rather than a formality considering Shepard’s Spectre status and the growing influence of the humans within the galaxy. 

Saren treats everything — introductions, initial conversations, tours — with the same veneer of blank stoicism. He only makes a small grumbling noise when their room assignments are sent to them. The Normandy is outfitted with human sleeping pods, and so, with the addition of other species, the Alliance set aside separate furnishings in another room for the alien members. However, the beds for the turians are the most miserable excuses for nests that Nihlus has ever seen, and Saren’s bed is the worst off. The circular cor is harder and doesn’t accommodate their spurs well. Saren bends down to pinch the edge of the cot with his talons and clamps his mandibles in clear disapproval. Both Nihlus and Saren have slept in worse places. This is luxurious compared to the long stint they endured during one mission in the bitter, icy winds of a distant planet. But the fact remains that between the two, Nihlus has the better bed and Saren’s left with something that feels like a rock.

The real trouble then starts at dinner. They all prepare their own individual rations. Saren and Nihlus break the insides of the package and wait for it to heat up before snapping the foil open along the outer edge. Tali only grabs a canister of nutrient paste and hooks it up to her bodysuit. The others take more time and care with their rations, and they all settle down to eat. But then, Shepard says, “Why don’t we play a round of poker? Or maybe gin rummy?” 

The translator leaves Shepard’s words as they are, but his human English dictionary app flashes a small notification on his omnitool. Nihlus has to check and see that the direct turian translation is “one who prods someone” for the first word and “alcohol alcohol-ish” for the second. He glances up at Shepard and pulls his facial plates into a grimace. “Do you want us to drink more alcohol? Or start poking you? I can do that if you want me to, but I don’t see the fun in that.”

“God, have I never played gin rummy with you before?” Shepard asks, her face absolutely aghast. “We’ve been to casinos before, yeah? We had to have gambled somewhere there.”

“We’ve played Kepesh-Yakshi and Firebreathing Thresher Maws of Doom,” Nihlus lists off. “I’m not sure if we ever played Towers of Hanoi, but we’d definitely played roulette and Quasar.”

“And we’ve played that roleplaying game too. Galaxy of Fantasy, I think? Also that terrible romance sim based off of Fleet and Flotilla,” Shepard says. “But Firebreathing Thresher Maws of Doom was my favorite.”

“Of course it was,” Nihlus mutters. The memory of Shepard with miniature flamethrowers was not a pleasant one. Somehow, she managed to decimate the playing board and scorch the ablative plating on his armor. He still doesn’t understand how she did it, especially since he nodded his armor to be more fire-proof as a form of insurance for Shepard’s wilder exploits. 

Beside him, Tali gasps and stops the flow of her nutrient paste. “Fleet and Flotilla is one of the  _ best _ romance sims out there!” she insists. Her mask muffles the sound of her voice, but her passion is still clear as Cipritine sun. “They even got the original actors to voice Shalei and Bellicus! Although that’s the original version. The repackaged version has better graphics but worse voice acting and none of the original actors.”

“Hm, we must have played the repackaged version then,” Shepard muses. She takes one more bite of her rations before she gestures to Nihlus. “But we gotta play poker. Or gin rummy. Either one is fine with me, but what’s wrong with a little bit of good-natured gambling? We don’t have to bet credits. We can just bet chips.”

“Commander,” Ashley says. She leans back in her chair and gives a lazy nod to Shepard. “If you don’t bet something you’re not willing to lose, then all the fun goes out of poker. We’re playing Texas Hold ‘Em, I assume.”

“Damn right,” Shepard says. She cracks her knuckles and Nihlus can see that infamous grin start to lift the corners of her lips. “We can play for different clean-up duties or belongings. I’ll teach you all for the first round as a practice before we crack down and start playing for real.”

The game proceeds clearly enough. Nihlus keeps a reference guide to the game up on his omnitool as he plays, and he relies on it for the first two rounds. After that, he’s got a relatively decent grasp on the game. He’s always been good at judging other people — a skill that earned him both infamy and reputation — and he uses it to his full advantage. Tali has a tendency to fiddle with the edges of her suit when she has a poor hand and breathes more heavily through her ventilator when she has a good one. Kaidan’s eyes flick around to everyone else’s faces when he thinks he has a good chance of winning. Wrex flashes his teeth more when he’s pleased with his hand and bluffs more than anyone else. Shepard bluffs almost as much as Wrex while Saren remains cool and collected. Nihlus relies on memories of past firefights by Saren’s side and keeps an eye out for the scarred side of his face. Saren tends to tense his muscles on his scarred side the most when he’s debating on whether or not to take the plunge.

Tali and Kaidan are the first to lose and back out. Liara gets the shirt off Kaidan’s back and Saren reluctantly claims Tali’s copy of Fleet and Flotilla. Ashley gets a few armor mods from Shepard, and Nihlus gives up his sniper visor to Wrex. Wrex tries to put it on but throws it back to Nihlus when it doesn’t fit. One by one, people stop playing as they either bet too much or win enough to be satisfied.

But Nihlus is never satisfied, and neither are Shepard and Saren.

Shepard and Saren exchange a slow look that Nihlus would describe as “smoldering” if he wasn’t terrified of the prospect of them working  _ together. _

Saren clicks at the back of his tongue, and if anything, Nihlus would describe Saren’s subvocals as satisfaction. Possibly happiness, but Nihlus hesitates to describe Saren as “happy.” Shepard’s wearing her classic, shit-eating grin too. She clears her throat and murmurs, “Let’s begin.” Her voice is soft and low — a far cry from her usual tone — and Nihlus swallows. 

Picks up his cards. Lays out his bets. Realizes he has nothing to bet left.

Before Nihlus can stop himself, he sees the way Saren tense his jaw. He’s been making that motion every time he has a bad hand, and then, he sees the way Shepard glances at Saren. To him, it seems like she’s cataloguing the movement as well, and he will  _ not _ let Shepard get this glimmering opportunity. There’s a saying in the turian language;  _ uva vox em lamina comteran turiavi. A single crack in a plate will break a turian.  _ He remembers his mother telling him the exact same phrase before she shipped him off to the military and how one weakness in the group would ruin it. He also remembers using that saying during his training and later, his missions with Saren. And to Nihlus, Saren’s small, almost infinitesimal, tell is the crack that he’ll use to break him down. Victory always tastes sweet, and a victory against Saren  _ and _ Shepard will taste even sweeter.

That’s when he bets his bed.

When he says it, Saren pauses and flares his mandibles once. He blinks once, twice, before his subvocals rumble into a deep, satisfied, and smug sound that trills over his voice. “Alright,” he says. “Interesting bet, Nihlus.”

He lays down his cards, and Nihlus almost chokes when he sees a royal flush in his hand. 

“I’ll be taking the good  _ nidum _ then,” Saren chuckles.

Shepard sets her own cards down too, and Nihlus sees that even she has the better card. “Good times, Arterius, good times,” she says. She pats the table and says, “I think we agreed to split the winnings if we worked together?”

“What?!” Nihlus sputters, mandibles flared out wide and subvocals trembling with outrage. “You two worked  _ together?!” _

Shepard sweeps all the cards up and shuffles them back into a deck. “I want the armor mods,” she says, pointedly ignoring Nihlus. “You can have the rifle mods. They work better with turian rifles, and your rifles are off-balanced for me. The recoil’s too strong. Makes me wish I had plates of my own sometimes.” She glances up at Nihlus. “Also, since you bet your clean-up duties, you’ll be taking mine on odd-numbered days and Saren’s on even-numbered days.” Her lips spread into a serene smile and she finishes, “You’ve been outplayed, Nihlus.”

Saren holds his hand up, and Shepard takes the opportunity to slap his hand with a gusto. Saren  _ never _ used high-fives — or high-threes in his case — and they both smile smugly at him. Everyone else from Wrex to Tali to Ashley start laughing, and Nihlus leans back with a grimace. 

He  _ knew _ something bad would happen when Saren and Shepard became actual friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just making up stuff for the turian language and i have no idea what i'm doing. also!! i have a soft spot in my heart for the original me1 crew, so there's that.
> 
> translations:  
>  **uva vox em lamina comteran turiavi** — "a single crack in a plate will break a turian," referencing the thulium plates on a turian's body and meaning something along the lines of "one bad apple spoils the barrel" but in a turian cultural context. according to the wiki, a turian will put the group first, and i figured that this would be alright enough.  
>  **nidum** — bed


End file.
